A Time of War
by Kiwicon
Summary: Arthur, a British soldier, is wounded in battle. Most of his army has been wiped out by the Americans, and the only thing he can do is surrender. What happens when a certain American takes a liking to him and wishes to do more than just help?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: **This is my first fanfic, so I hope you guys enjoy it! *o* USUK and human names are used.

[Edit] Also, I wanna point out that I didn't originally have the year and war in the story, but I eventually went back and added it since there's a bit of confusion about it. So, yes. Sorry about that. o: I should've added this little edit thinger when I updated it.  
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_Bang._

_Bang. Bang._

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

Smoke covered the field, appearing to rest on the blades of grass as muskets and canons were fired. Bloodcurdling screams could be heard weakly between shots. The British were falling rapidly, their army nearly sliced in half by the Americans. A plan had been set in place, but a Colonel had forgotten the ladders, an important part of the plan, leaving the troops scrambling uphill only to be quickly shot down.

After roughly an hour, the battle had been won. The British suffered from 2,000 casualties, losing Generals, Colonels, Lieutenants, and soldiers. On the other hand, Americans only suffered from 13 casualties. Whooping and hollering could be heard from the winning, American side. They had successfully defeated the British and kept New Orleans, allowing their economy to prosper. This would later become known as the Battle of New Orleans, the last major battle of the War of 1812.

"We won! We won!" a voice called triumphantly. It belonged to a young American boy named Alfred. He was tall and good looking, around 17 years of age, with sandy blonde hair and vast, ocean-like eyes that were slightly obstructed by his glasses. He stood looking over the battle field, watching for any of the scattered bodies to move. Now, Alfred, of course, assumed that most were dead, but he knew there was always a chance for survivors. At first, the red coast didn't move. They just laid there, forming a sea of red. Once the smoke had cleared fully, however, a few did rise. The men crawled over to the Americans, willingly surrendering. One of the Brits caught Alfred's eye.

The boy obviously was wounded, for he couldn't even walk. He had to drag himself towards his enemy, hoping for medical care. Alfred watched him. The Brit had been shot in the left thigh, his white pants turning the same color as his jacket. For some odd reason, Alfred ran toward the man. It must have been instinctual. Why else would he run to help his enemy?

"Hey! Don't push yourself!" Alfred called. The Brit looked up at him before collapsing into the mud. Alfred rushed over, rolled the other over, and held him in his arms. "Hm, y'know?" the American smiled, examining the Brit, "You've got such a pretty face. It's a shame that you were shot." His already large ego was swelling with pride after another victory, leaving him quite cocky. Little did he know, however, that he was the one who shot the Brit. But, then again, he probably shot many more as their bodies littered the field. "What's your name?"

"Excuse me?" the red coat hissed in response, his accent thick. His blonde hair was pasted to his forehead and his deep, green eyes appeared tired. He was fairly small compared to Alfred, as well.

"I asked for your name." Alfred stated simply and innocently.

"Shut up and put me down, you Yankee. I'm not a lady."

"I just want to know your name."

"No!"

"Hey, I'm your enemy and I can easily do whatever I want to you. Now tell me your name," the blue-eyed man threatened as he picked up a nearby musket and rested the bayonet near the Brit's chest.

"My…my name's Arthur. Arthur Kirkland," he muttered, not wanting the other soldiers to hear. Alfred tossed the musket aside casually and looked around, like a cat searching for a mouse. An idea had popped into his head, but it was only going to work if he found a dead American soldier.

"Ah-ha! Found one!" Alfred rushed over to a body, still carrying Arthur. Gently, he set Arthur on the ground next to him, and started undressing the fallen soldier.

"You're absolutely disgusting," the other mumbled as he watched, unwillingly.

"Here," Alfred handed Arthur the soldier's blue jacket, hat, and shoes, "put these on." He made a mental note to pay his respects later.

"…Why?"

"Just do it or I'll shoot you."

And with that, Arthur was soon dressed like an American soldier. Alfred had everything planned out in that little brain of his. Everything down to the slightest detail. He was also determined to fulfill his plan, not letting other Americans stop him. Step one of his plan was to dress the Brit as an American. Check. Step two was to make sure that they both received medical treatment. That was easy. There was a little medical tent set up not far from where they were. The only problem was that Alfred would need to find a way to get his new, wounded friend over there. Another problem that could easily be solved. Much to Arthur's dismay, he was swiftly thrown over the taller's shoulder and carried toward said tent.

"You're hurting my leg!" Arthur cried. From what he could tell, the American had no intentions of being gentle. His large hands gripped the other's legs tightly, only adding to the pain. Suddenly, one of the hands loosened its grip. Sighing in relief, Arthur thought the idiot had finally noticed his tight grasp. The hand slowly moved up, however. Up…And up…And up…until said hand rested on a perfectly shaped ass.

"Ahh! Don't touch me there!"

"Sorry," was all he received for a reply, "you were slipping. I didn't want you to fall." With a slight jerk, Arthur was, once again, safely positioned on the American's shoulder. "Oh, by the way," Alfred warned, "don't speak when we reach the 'hospital'. If they know that you're British, they won't treat you. If, and only if, you have to say something, say it with your best American accent." This was something the Brit would happily oblige to. If removing the bullet from his leg meant sitting there in silence, then he'd do it. Sweet, sweet silence. Alfred could do all the talking if any needed to be done. This was a chance for Arthur to rest. Besides, it's not like Alfred would just leave him there…Right?

Upon reaching and entering the tent, the two found that it was nearly vacant. Only a few soldiers and doctors resided there. Most of the soldiers only suffered from minor injuries. After looking around, Alfred found an unoccupied, makeshift bed tucked away in the corner. A perfect spot for the smaller man. He'd be in his own little space, away from the others, allowing little to no conversation.

Arthur, nearly asleep, felt himself starting to slide off of the other. His mind was foggy and he was unable to think clearly, so he was unaware that the American was just laying him down. When he felt himself completely off of the other's shoulder, his eyes shot open and he wrapped his arms around the other's midsection. "Don't drop me! I'm already in enough pain as is, got that? Just hurry up an-"

_Smack._

"Shhh! I didn't drop you and I told you not to say anything!" Alfred whispered as his hand speedily made its way to Arthur's mouth, cutting off the rest of his rant. Somewhat embarrassed, Arthur scanned the room. The others were staring at him, not only because of his accent and sudden outburst, but because he was hugging another man. Upon connecting the dots and realizing the situation, he immediately let go.

"S-Sorry. I-I didn't mean to…" the Brit mumbled, tripping over his words. He could feel his face burning. The sensation has started somewhere in his chest and made its way up his neck and onto his cheeks, making them tingle.

"Just be quiet and lay down, will you?" There was a hint of a threatening tone in the other's voice.

_Gulp._

Not wanting to draw more attention to himself, Arthur laid on the cot and tried to relax. Oh, what he'd give to go home. His leg was throbbing and burning, he had just completely humiliated himself in front of his enemy, and, as if things couldn't get any worse, he was still stuck with some obnoxious, overly self-confident American. Heck, he didn't even know the guy's name. At least he seemed friendly and appeared to have good intentions, though. Being with him was much better than lying in a muddy field, waiting to die. Arthur slowly started to nod off, lost in thought.


	2. Chapter 2

"Wow…" Alfred murmured to himself. He was standing over Arthur's bed, watching the man sleep. Now that the other was calm and at ease, Alfred was able to get a better look at him. The feature that stuck out the most to the American was the smaller's rather large, bushy eyebrows. They reminded him of caterpillars almost. Oddly, he found them to be quite attractive and…absolutely delicious. Another thing that differed from the American's appearance was the other's build. He was petite and quite thin. His small shoulders barely filled the jacket's full width. They did, however, have some similarities. Both of them were blonde and both of them were males who fought in the military.

"Excuse me?" Alfred was immediately drug back to reality, losing all current thoughts and daydreams. "What's the guy's injury and name?" the doctor asked. He looked fairly amateur and bored with his job. Unprepared for the question, Alfred hesitated before answering.

"Oh, uh…His name's Arthur and he was shot in the leg." Was this guy blind or something? Anyone could tell that Arthur's leg was wounded. Blood was slowly leaking out of the wound and engulfing his pant leg.

"Okay, move out of the way, kid." Man, this doctor was pushy. Alfred did what he was told and stepped aside. Worried, he did hover, however. "Hey, I said to move outta the way!"

"Sorry!" Alfred squeaked. Not wanting to anger the doctor any further, he left the tent. He knew that Arthur would be in there for a while, and he couldn't just leave him there. So, he decided to wait.

The surrounding area provided little entertainment. Looking around, Alfred spotted a few muskets laying on the ground. Some target practice sounded like fun, but he didn't want to alarm the other soldiers. He scanned the area once more for something interesting. Still nothing. Sure, he could go talk to the other Americans that fought with him against the British, but he wasn't in the mood. His mind was clouded with thoughts of Arthur. Would he be ok?

Back in the tent, the doctor removed Arthur's pants, cleaned the wound some, and started stitching up his leg. Unfortunately, the Brit hadn't been given any sort of painkillers and bolted upright, screaming in agony as the needle pierced his pale skin. Hearing the shrieks clearly through the fabric walls, Alfred immediately darted inside and over to Arthur. He was only away for a few minutes and something had already gone wrong! Two other men were hovering over the Brit, holding him down in an attempt to keep him still. The doctor was hurriedly sewing the wound, connecting flesh with flesh.

"Hold still, boy, and just be glad your entire leg isn't being amputated!" The doctor hollered, finishing the last stitch and tying it up

"There's still a chance of that, though," Alfred murmured. The American had friends who, like Arthur, suffered from gunshot wounds that were treated, only to become infected, and later amputated in a rather crude fashion. He winced at the thought.

"Get away, get away!" Arthur flailed, squirming out of the men's grasp and sitting up. "Give me back my pants!" Happy to oblige, Alfred picked the other's tattered pants off the floor and handed them over. Arthur eagerly slipped them on and glared at anyone and everyone looking. "What?" He hissed and hopped off the cot. Unfortunately, his temper got the best of him, and he didn't even think about his leg or being able to stand. A sharp new pain shot through the Brit's leg as it started to give out. Luckily, his new American hero was there to save him, gently putting an arm around him for support. Instead of using to offered arm, he, once again, flung his arms around the American's waist and clung to him for dear life.

"…Again, Artie? You must like hugs or something. That's cool and all, but can we hug later?"

"Shut up and take me home."

The two stood like that for a while as Alfred processed the idea. He could take Arthur home, nurse him back to health, and then the guy could maybe get a place nearby and the two could be friends. That sounded pretty cool…heroic, too! Agreeing, Alfred told the other all about his home, but that they wouldn't be back for a good bit of time. Obviously, they'd need to get back on foot, horse, or wagon. Officers of higher ranks were generally the ones who rode horses, but riding a horse probably wasn't a good idea for Arthur, anyway. The few wagons that were there contained supplies, however, and Arthur would constantly get bumped around in there. Also not a good idea.

"Looks like I'll have to carry you home!"

"…What?" Arthur was horrified at the idea of letting some hulking American carry him miles to where ever the stranger lived. "No. Absolutely not. I can walk on my own just fine."

"Then, uh…why're you still holding on?" A childish grin spread across the taller's face as the question was asked. He knew he was right. There was no way Arthur was walking in his current state.

"B-Because! I'm tired, that's why! It's not my leg, if that's what you think!" His cheeks burned with discomfort as his words stumbled out, not sounding too convincing. This was the second time he'd humiliated himself, and he didn't plan to try for a third. "Let's…Just _go_ already!"

"We can't. At least not yet. We all have to go together, and that means waiting for orders."

"…Fine."


	3. Chapter 3

After a long and painstaking journey home, both men finally made it safely. Arthur, astoundingly, didn't contract gangrene. Alfred was tired from carrying his friend most of the way, but in no worse shape than before. A small victory party was held by the American and his friends at a local bar, and afterwards, he took Arthur home, neither too drunk. Alfred's house was quaint with two floors, both furnished. There was a kitchen, parlor, dining room, and two bedrooms along with a bathroom outside. However, he didn't take much time to show Arthur around. The sun was setting, and both were exhausted.

"This is your room," the American mumbled groggily. Arthur just nodded in agreement and wandered inside. Immediately, he flopped onto the bed and curled into a ball. Standing in the doorway, Alfred watched him. His room was the whole way down the hall, but he really didn't feel like walking that far. Sharing a bed with Arthur for one night couldn't hurt, right? Alfred sleepily crawled into bed with the other, careful not to disturb him. He pulled the covers over them and quickly drifted into a deep and relaxing sleep.

The next morning, Arthur awoke to two big, strong arms wrapped around him lovingly. He didn't remember falling asleep with someone, so he skillfully rolled over to see who it was.

It was Alfred.

The American had snaked his arms around the Brit in the middle of the night, pulling the other close. Arthur was mortified, but for some reason, he…_liked_ the sensation of being this close to his new friend. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach while he examined Alfred's face. He looked so much more peaceful asleep than he did awake. His golden locks were dirty and hung in front of his face, blocking bits of the view, but that was ok. A soft smile resided on Alfred's delicate pink lips, and his breaths were content as his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

Arthur slowly readjusted his position so that he was more comfortable and carefully scootched closer to Alfred. The smile was still there, and it drew Arthur ever nearer. Gingerly, he placed a small kiss on those perfect, absolutely _perfect_ lips. Then, he suddenly pulled back with such force that he would've fallen off the bed if it wasn't for the American's arms. He was shocked. Disgusted. In utter disbelief. What had he just done? His eyes intently watched the other for any sign of movement as a dark blush came over his face. Luckily, Alfred was a heavy sleeper and too busy dreaming about another victory to notice the Brit.

"H-Hey…Al…Alfred," Arthur tried, "Wake up, git…its morning and you're in my bed…Hey? Are you listening?" He tried poking Alfred's cheeks, and then pulling at them, leaving red marks. It didn't seem to be working since no response was given. "I know you can hear me, damnit. Stop playing games!" Now angered, Arthur blatantly kicked Alfred somewhere which he thought was his leg. In reply, Alfred groaned and unwillingly opened his eyes.

"Dude…what time is it…?"

"Time for you to get up, that's what time it is. Now if you don't mind, let go of me. I'm hungry and I'd like to go make something to eat." Lazily, Alfred unhooked his arms and allowed Arthur to free himself. Since when had the Brit become so standoffish? And why was he blushing? Alfred thought he liked hugs? Oh well. Perhaps he was just a little moody.

While the American was lost in thought, Arthur combed his hair with his fingers, ridding himself of his bed head. "…Shit." How could he have forgotten? Maybe it was because he wasn't able to change for the longest time, but he'd need some new clothes now. The ones he wore were dirty and worn, the fabric thinning in some spots, plus they smelled slightly. "Hey, Yankee," he started. "I need to borrow some clothes. Think you have any that will fit me?"

Alfred stared at Arthur, whose back was to him. "I dunno," he replied. "Sure, I've got clothes you can borrow, but I don't think they'll fit."

"Well, find some that you think will," Arthur swiftly retorted.

"Whateverrrrrr…" the American whined as he rolled out of bed. "The closet is over there…Go find something yourself." Alfred's current attire wasn't in the best shape, either, so he walked over to the closet, grabbed a few things, and then left the room. He was glad to have the first pick of clothes and to get away from Arthur as well. The man was becoming annoying.

Left alone in the room, Arthur sighed and began looking through the available clothes. Nearly everything was too large for him, but he was able to find a few smaller articles. He worked with what he had and used suspenders to keep the borrowed brown trousers up. The vests were all too big and would look awkward on him, so he didn't even bother with one. Luckily, shoved in the back of the closet was a white dress shirt that looked about his size. At least he wouldn't look too unproper. Unable to find shoes that fit, he kept the black boots he had. After changing, Arthur made his way downstairs and into the kitchen where Alfred was.

"So, what'd ya find?" questioned the American. He had already changed into an outfit that really showed off his build and was now cooking breakfast for both of them.

"Hm. Would you like to take a guess?" Arthur responded smartly.

"Clothes?"

"Very good. I wasn't quite sure If you would guess correctly," the smaller stated sharply while looking through the cabinets for tea. "By the way, we're going shopping."

"Shopping?"

"Yes, shopping. Most of the food you have around here has gone bad…You don't even have any tea. And I need clothes. Also," his gaze drifted over to Alfred and a smile made its way onto his face, "You could use a haircut." Arthur imagined his friend cleaned up with a spiffy outfit that was tailored flawlessly. The butterflies in his stomach returned once more, and so did a light blush.

"A haircut?" Alfred mused, not paying much attention to Arthur. "Well, I guess so. My hair is getting kinda long, after all. You should get one, too." He looked over and grinned, still not picking up on the other's blush. Alfred was too busy thinking about his hair, cooking, and how cute Arthur looked in those oversized clothes. "So, let's go shopping tomorrow? We can go to the market."

"Sounds excellent."


	4. Chapter 4

Upon the arrival of a new day, the two were well rested now, having slept in their own beds and not causing a scene. They were also well fed and had enough energy to do more than lounge around the whole day reading a book. However, Arthur was left without money or pay, so whatever he wanted Alfred would have to buy. Not that Alfred would object to such a thing, but he did have a budget.

"Now," the Brit was already lecturing, "I made a list of items we need. You better not forget anything." The sheet of paper in his hand was small, scribbled on with his ideal cursive. He certainly did have wonderful penmanship.

"I won't, I won't," Alfred reassured. "I never forget things!"

"Also," the other added quickly, disappointing the American, "You're going to act like a gentleman today and not some hooligan. That means no drawing attention to yourself, no speaking of vulgar or absurd things, no acting arrogant or self-absorbed, and no fighting. However, you _must_ help a lady in need, be brave and respectful, and carry yourself with grace and confidence."

"Uh, I already do that stuff," Alfred grinned.

"Oh, yes, of course. How could I forget?" Arthur agreed sarcastically as he rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Anyway, if you're ready, we can—"

"Yep, I'm ready!" An overly excited Alfred chirped as he grabbed Arthur's hand and drug him outside, down the street, and the whole way to the market. The market wasn't too large, but it wasn't too small either. It carried necessities such a food and clothes and other things such as furniture and imported items. "What kinds of clothes do you like to wear?"

"I told you not to cause a scene!" Arthur barked as he ripped his hand out of the American's grasp.

"I don't think I'm the one causing a scene," Alfred responded smartly, pointing a finger at the other. "Let's hurry up and find you an outfit before you draw even more attention! Geez!" he added playfully and grabbed the other's hand once again, the accusing look erased from his face.

"There's no way in hell I'm letting you create my wardrobe!" the Brit complained. "I'm picking out what I want and that's that! I don't care about what you have to-"

"Just go look at those pants over there and lemme know how you like them," Alfred interrupted and shoved Arthur in the direction of said pants. "Look, there's even matching vests!" Begrudgingly, Arthur walked over to the rack and started looking through the small selection, obviously taking his time. When he was finished and had picked out what he liked, he walked over to the friendly lady operating the stand and started a conversation with her.

"Oh, Artie, wait! You need my...wallet?" Alfred searched his pockets, but his wallet wasn't there! Had he forgotten it? Right as he turned his attention back to his friend, he saw him with _his_ wallet spending _his _money on an expensive new frockcoat, trousers, vest, and shoes!

Arthur had absolutely perfect composure and completely blocked the American out, not bothering to notice his absurd stare. Hadn't Alfred said something about using his money, anyway? The Brit wasn't a child and could easily buy his own garments. Still not taking notice to Alfred, Arthur proceeded onto the next shop and bought something there. When he finished paying, he casually strolled back over to his dumbfounded friend.

"How did you…?" Alfred questioned, staring down at Arthur.

"I took your wallet while you weren't looking, of course," he replied nonchalantly as he slid said wallet into his pocket. "I have everything I need, so let's take you to get your hair cut." Alfred nodded in agreement, and the two walked over to the barbers. There, the American only received a trim, and Arthur did as well. Once they paid for that, the smaller finally handed over the other's precious wallet.

Alfred opened it up and peered inside. "Hey…All my money is gone…What the heck did you spend it on? We don't even have any for food now!"

"Calm down," the Brit soothed, "I don't even eat that much." Leaving his friend still in disbelief, he turned around and started home. Alfred soon started after him.

"B…But you said we needed to buy everything on the list!" Alfred huffed, a bit winded from running after his friend.

"I lied." Arthur stated bluntly.

Once the duo returned home, it was already quite late. Alfred grabbed a quick snack before going to bed, and Arthur put away his new clothes. The two didn't speak to each other very much, but that was ok. They did need a bit of space every now and then. Besides, the distance would allow each of them to relax and unwind instead of worrying about what the other was doing.

That night, neither awoke or had trouble sleeping, but when Alfred woke up the next morning, he made a devastating discovery.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Yaaay, I finally finished this after I don't even know how long~ Hope you guys enjoy it. :D

Arthur was nowhere to be found. Our hero, Alfred, look everywhere for him until he stumbled upon a note left on Arthur's bed. He gingerly picked up the paper and read it, not sure what he'd learn.

"_Dear Alfred,_

_Thank you for your hospitality and kindness. It was very generous of you to allow me into your home for such a long stay, and I appreciate that. Sadly, I've left this morning to travel back to England. I was going to say "good-bye," but you were still asleep, so I wrote this instead. Don't be too upset, ok? We'll be able to write to one another, and maybe I'll visit again sometime, or you could even visit me. My address is written at the bottom of this letter._

_Also, I hope you didn't mind me spending the rest of your money on a ticket to England. You're a hard working lad, I'm sure you'll earn it back soon enough._

_Sincerely, Arthur Kirkland"_

Alfred read the note over again, just to make sure he had read and understood everything completely. Slowly, he could feel his eyes swell with tears until they started flowing over and rolling gently down his cheeks. Many thoughts came to mind as well as mixed emotions. The American couldn't understand why Arthur hadn't just told him about it, or at the very least hinted it. He would've liked to really say good-bye to his friend rather than waking up to an unnerving message.

At this point, there wasn't much that our hero could do. Arthur had gone, and the only thing he left was the letter. Yet, for some reason, he had the feeling his friend would come back soon—or, at least, he hoped his friend would come back. Until, then Alfred decided to start writing his letter in response to the Brit.

_"Dear Arthur,_

_Why did you have to leave like that? I wouldn't have cared if you woke me up to say bye, you know! England is really far away and stuff! But I guess it's best for you to go back home, huh? You're probably more comfortable there, anyway. I bet all of your friends are there, too…Well, except me, of course! What's it like in England? I've never been there before, and you never said much about your home while you were here. Did you try to avoid talking about it because you were homesick? If so, I can totally understand._

_Now that you're on your way back to England, are you still going to be in the army? Because maybe we can meet again in battle! That wouldn't really be good, though….I don't think I could shoot you. We're friends! Maybe I could sneak into your base camp and then we can talk._

_Anyway, I hope you have a safe trip. Write back when you get this!_

_Sincerely, Alfred F. Jones"_

Promptly after finishing his reply, he took it to the nearest post office and dropped it off there. He was aware that letters took a good while to be delivered when sent overseas, and he knew that his hadn't even been sent yet, but he couldn't help feeling giddy about receiving a letter back. What he'd do once he returned home, he wasn't quite sure yet, but he knew he would be bored. All he could focus on was that letter.

It felt like he was waiting for forever. Months had passed now since he sent that letter, and it only should have taken Arthur maybe one month at most to return home. Alfred had expected a letter back by the third month of waiting, but he never got one. Five months passed and he was still without a reply. He was completely puzzled by this. Arthur had suggested himself that he and Alfred write, yet he wasn't responding. Maybe the letter was lost on its journey? That was completely plausible, but why did it have to be _his_ letter? If that was the case, he assumed Arthur would have already taken the liberty of sending a letter asking about why he hadn't received one yet. After thinking about it, Alfred decided to try writing another letter.

_"Dear Arthur,_

_Hi, it's me again! Did you get the last letter I sent you? It's been a while and you haven't replied yet. Is everything ok over there? I hope the last letter I sent you didn't get lost! I spent a lot of time writing that, y'know! Hey, write back as soon as you can, ok?_

_Sincerely, Alfred F. Jones"_

Another five months passed, and still no response was given from the Brit. At this point, Alfred was starting to worry. Although he didn't know Arthur for long, he just felt as though something was off. It seemed, to the American, that a man like Arthur would have surely felt the need to write back once, at the very least, to ensure that he had arrived safely and to thank the other for his concern. After ten months of waiting, there was still no reply.

It wasn't until two months later—roughly a full year since Arthur had left—that Alfred got what he was waiting for and then some.

He started his morning like any other, casually reading the paper and sipping on his hot coffee. Bored, he had even chosen to write yet another letter to his friend, asking once more if he was ok and why he had not written back. A knock on the door broke Alfred from his concentration.

As he rose from his comfortable seat to answer it, he couldn't help but wonder why someone would be at his house this early in the morning.

"Did you miss me, git?"

He couldn't believe his eyes! Standing directly outside the American's door was Arthur, luggage and all.

"You have no idea how worried I was!" Alfred hugged the other cheerfully, lifting him off the ground with ease, "I thought your ship sank! Or you were abducted by aliens! Or eaten by a bear or something!"

Arthur squirmed in Alfred's grasp hoping that he'd let go. "Ah, stop! I'm glad to see you, too, but I think this is a bit much! Put me down!" Not wanting to ruin the moment, the American promptly put his friend down upon request. "Now, if you're going to greet someone," he dusted himself off, "you greet them like this…" He finished as he placed a light kiss on each of Alfred's cheeks.

"Man," Alfred blushed, "you Europeans sure are weird. Anyway, did you get the letters I sent you?"

That's right. The letters. Of course the Brit got them; they were addressed to him and no one else. "Oh, yes," he started, "I indeed did receive them, um…"'

"Then why didn't you write back?"

"Because…"

"Because why?"

"Because, Alfred. Everything you think of me is false. I don't have a lot of friends, I'm no longer in the army, I don't have a girlfriend, and, quite frankly," he paused to gather his courage, "I love you, damnit!" Since when had Alfred ever said anything about a girlfriend? Well, whatever, that didn't really matter.

Not knowing how to respond, the American just stood there, looking down at Arthur. It was obvious that the Brit was waiting for some kind of response, so Alfred decided he'd say whatever came to mind. "So…You, uh…You like me? Heh heh, that's pretty cool…because I like you like that, too." He grinned. "Yeah. I love you, too." Everything just came naturally to him, even though he was telling Arthur the awkward yet romantic truth. Even aware of what other people would think of him, he still didn't seem to care. The way he accepted Arthur like that was almost equivalent to everyday conversation.

"Wait, you mean you actually…?" Now Arthur was at a loss for words. Alfred nodded to assure the other of what he had heard.

"Arthur, remember when I saved you from dying a year ago?"

He nodded.

"I just knew there was something about you that made me do it, but I wasn't sure what. After hearing you say that you love me…Well, now I know! I love you and you love me!" Alfred couldn't help but allow the grin to widen on his face.

Upon hearing his new lover's explanation, something just _clicked_ in Arthur's mind. Everything was starting to fall into place, and the earlier events started to make sense. Alfred wasn't doing what he was to be kind; he was doing it for something more. If only it hadn't taken a year and two trips across the Atlantic for Arthur to realize. Now he wished he had shown more affection towards Alfred rather than kicking him and stealing his wallet.

The past was the past, however, one thing still stood in their way of being a happy couple: society. This was something that concerned the Brit. "Al-Alfred, this is great and all, but…How on Earth are we going to survive? Two male falling in love, I mean…"

"It's simple. We just don't tell anyone." Of course. Alfred had a plan for everything and anything.

"But we're still living together…"

"We're just two roommates looking for some ladies, alright?" And another plan.

"If you say so," the Brit sighed.

"Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"I love you," Alfred told his lover again as he lifted him off his feet and kissed him shamelessly on the lips this time.

Arthur couldn't stop himself from smiling. "I love you, too, idiot."


End file.
